Learning to Love
by FFcrazy15
Summary: "They were harmless. Just thoughts. He let himself believe it, but when the little fantasy dissipated and he found himself walking calmly along the road, his footsteps irreversibly carrying him back home, he felt sick to his stomach– and afraid." Old habits die hard, and for Miroku, one habit in particular isn't going down without a fight. (Rated T for difficult subject matter.)


Disclaimer: I neither own the intellectual property of the InuYasha universe, nor the rights to any of the affiliated merchandise or creative works thereof, nor do I profit from this work produced here.

 _Summary: "_ _They were harmless. Just thoughts. He let himself believe it, but when the little fantasy dissipated and he found himself walking calmly along the road, his footsteps irreversibly carrying him back home, he felt sick to his stomach– and afraid." Old habits die hard, and for Miroku, one habit in particular isn't going down without a fight._

 **Warnings: hard topics, references to married activity.**

* * *

 **犬夜叉**

* * *

There was something wrong with him, and Miroku knew it.

For three years he'd managed to keep it a secret, bottling everything up inside his own head. He had to. If anyone knew, well, Sango would inevitably find out, and _that_ was something he could not afford.

When he'd gotten married, he'd made himself a solemn oath: _no more womanizing._ No more flirting, no more groping, and _certainly_ no more asking other girls to bear his children. And for the most part, he'd been successful. He kept his hands and silver speech to himself, and no one who watched him could find anything in his behavior worthy of rebuke. But though it had been relatively easy to stop his hands from wandering, Miroku had not expected just how difficult it would be to keep his _mind_ from doing the same.

It had started out small: a sideways, admiring glance at a farmer's daughter, a few brief thoughts late at night, after Sango was already asleep. But soon, as the honeymoon stage wore away into ordinary life, the trickle had grown into a flood. With every bickered argument, chiding admonishment or simple "not tonight, monk, I've had a long day," it had become easier and easier to let his thoughts drift to other women. Oh, never with any intent towards real action– he loved Sango, and loved being married to her. He would never be unfaithful to her (well, at least, he dearly hoped he wouldn't). But, well, marriage was hard, and being a womanizing bachelor had been so very easy. Before he knew it, he was down the rabbit hole and unsure how to get back out again.

Which was why Sango _could not_ know. He loved her, he didn't want to hurt her. If she knew he still fantasized about being with other women… the very thought made him burn with shame. He wouldn't hurt her like that. His weakness had to stay his own little secret.

But perhaps she had sensed it, even if subconsciously, because recently he had noticed that something was missing from their daily interactions. Marriage had become a sort of business for them, no compliments shared, no light little smiles upon seeing each other. Sango had become withdrawn, even depressed. It had finally come to Miroku's attention when, just the night before, his wife, exhausted from taking care of two twin girls and a baby all day, had made a disparaging comment about her own harried appearance. Miroku had momentarily found himself agreeing with her before he'd realized what he was doing, and rebuked himself internally, but the damage was done. He hadn't said a word of his thoughts aloud, but neither had he contradicted her.

It didn't make sense, he realized. Sango was his wife, his best friend, the mother of his children. He shouldn't be thinking these things, looking at other women this way. It wasn't the first time he'd come to this conclusion; he'd tried many times to put aside thoughts of other women and focus solely on the only one he truly loved, but it had been more difficult than he'd expected, and every time, he quickly lost his resolve. Each time he'd tell himself that he needed to get ahold of himself– he was a monk, dammit, he should be stronger than this!– but he always failed, over and over again.

All of this was swirling through his mind as he readied to head out with Inuyasha the next morning. Sango, between feeding the twins and nursing the baby, had given him a quick kiss as he left, barely even looking at him. Not two seconds later, as he left the house, his eyes had caught sight of one of the pretty farm girls carrying her washing to the river, and he'd felt that familiar tug in the pit of his stomach. He'd hurried on his way, but temptation seemed to dog him at every turn. By the time he reached Inuyasha and Kagome's house, he was feeling guilty and irritable. His eyes alighted on Kagome, who was kissing her husband goodbye, and for a brief instant an image flashed through his mind, the sort of thing he didn't want to imagine with the woman he considered his sister– or at any rate, he didn't want to want it . Disgusted with himself, Miroku turned away.

He was a married man. Why was this still happening?

"Miroku. Hey, Miroku!"

He looked up. Inuyasha was looking at him expectantly. "You ready? It's a long walk to the village."

"What? Oh. Yes, we should get on our way."

"Right. See ya later, Kagome."

"Goodbye, Inuyasha. Be safe!"

The two kissed again, and Miroku watched in jealousy. Damn that hanyou, loyal through and through. He didn't know how lucky he was, having eyes for no other than Kagome.

He wanted that back. It was within his reach, yet he just couldn't grasp it. Why did he keep letting go of the greatest thing in his life for mere fantasies? Why did he do what he didn't want to do, and why did he enjoy it so much?

What the hell was the matter with him?

* * *

 **犬夜叉**

* * *

Exorcising the demon had turned out to be an easy task, at least for Inuyasha, who'd found himself standing on the sidelines and watching in surprise as the monk threw himself at the threat over and over again without cease. He couldn't have known what sweet relief this brought the monk. For a few moments, he was wonderfully distracted, exhilarated by the danger which drove out all other thoughts.

But then, when they were being paid by the lord, he happened to catch the eye of the beautiful young princess, and she smiled. That was all it took. His thoughts slipped sideways, away from the strong, welcoming wife and beautiful children awaiting him back home, away from reality and into the imaginings that began with, _If I weren't married…_

They were harmless. Just thoughts. He let himself believe it, but when the little fantasy dissipated and he found himself walking calmly along the road, his footsteps irreversibly carrying him back home, he felt sick to his stomach– and afraid. Not of Sango, whom he never told about his little mental escapades, but of himself. What if, he wondered, what if someday an "innocent" daydream to turn into that fatal wish, _If_ only _I weren't married…_

Apparently sensing that his companion was deep in thought, Inuyasha respectfully remained silent all the way home. Miroku's face was impassive as normal, but inside he warred back and forth with his demons. It was a tiring duel, and though hours passed, he didn't seem to be gaining any ground.

Around sundown the pair reached the edge of the village; Inuyasha bid the monk farewell and then leapt into the trees, a faint red blur against the sky for a moment before he was gone, in search of his own wife. Miroku wandered aimlessly for a time through the surrounding woods, unwilling to return home. He didn't think he could face Sango, not yet.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, fate had other plans. Quite by accident he found himself at the edge of a small meadow near the village where he and Sango often took the children to play. Tonight, it seemed, was no exception, for before him lay a scene like that from a fairytale:

Sango stood in the middle of the meadow, her long dark hair blowing in the wind and the baby sleeping peacefully in the sling on her back, a smile gracing her face as the twins ran up to her, offering her a handful of flowers. _"Look, mama! Look!"_

 _"Ah! They're so beautiful!"_ Gentle hands ruffled dark mops of hair; the girls beamed in delight. _"What clever daughters I have!"_

Miroku gazed at them, a heartbroken sorrow filling his heart. This was his family; this was where he belonged, where he wanted to be. And he was failing them: failing the girls, failing his little son, failing his wife. He loved Sango, loved her to death. He would sacrifice everything for her, even give up his life for her. So why, _why_ couldn't he control his damn _thoughts?!_

The answer came easily, and when it did, it struck a terrified note in him: _I love her. But I don't love her_ _enough._

 _I don't love my wife enough._

That in itself was a horrifying thought. Sango was a part of who he was; his identity rested in being a husband, a father. And she, she was his dearest friend, his beloved companion. His wife. Failing to love her was… was as unnatural to him as failing to breathe.

But apparently he'd learned how to hold his breath, because Sango was no longer enough for him. He wanted more, he'd always wanted more, and he cursed himself for it. He knew he couldn't have both. He didn't _want_ both, not when it came right down to it. It wasn't that he wanted other women, it was that he wanted Sango to be… well, to be enough to satisfy him. And she wasn't. And that wasn't her fault; how could any woman, even a woman as incredible as she, quench the fire he'd fueled with dozens of women before her?. Somehow, without his ever realizing it, he'd developed an addiction to his womanizing ways, and now it was coming back to bite him.

 _It's my fault. My marriage is falling apart before my very eyes and it's my fault._

It was at this point that the monk finally realized the desperation of his situation. He knew what he needed; he needed to stop being such a bottomless pit for pleasure and start actually loving his wife. But what he didn't know was _how._ He was already too weak, he'd never be able to sufficiently strengthen himself in time. Sooner rather than later, his already tired wife was going to lose hope in him altogether; every day she drifted a little further from him, the distance growing ever wider as they lay side-by-side in the same bed, leaving him to drown in the sea of himself with no idea how to swim. He needed help, and fast. But from whom? Inuyasha? No, the hanyou was unfailingly loyal, to the point where _his_ troubles had stemmed from a strange version of that same loyalty. Kagome? No, Kagome wouldn't understand; how could she? Besides, he realized, he really didn't want other people poking their noses into his bedroom.

The answer was obvious, but it took a few moments of struggle before he wearily admitted it to himself: the only person who could help him better love Sango, was Sango. More to the point, she had a right to know why her husband couldn't be the man he was supposed to be for her. But the actual idea of confessing to her… Miroku momentarily entertained the feverish thought that he'd rather die. He'd sworn he would be faithful to her, and he'd failed, at least in his heart. He wouldn't blame Sango if she hated him for it.

For a long while he stood in silence, watching his wife play in the grass with the girls. He saw how her eyes sparkled when she laughed, how much the little ones loved her, the kindness in her smile… his heart beat once, very hard, and he drew a trembling breath. How had he forgotten how beautiful she was?

"Mama! Mama!" He heard the childish voice call across the fields, and then saw his little daughter point towards him. Sango looked up, surprised, and Miroku froze. She lifted a hand in greeting, and he strode forward through the tall grass.

"Welcome home," she said, and for the first time he noted the slight resignation in her tone. "How did it g–"

She was cut off, startled, when he kissed her fiercely, burying his hand in her hair. The girls squealed and giggled, clapping their hands, but when he pulled away the expression on her face was one of confusion. "What was that for?"

"Does a man need a reason to embrace his wife?"

She frowned slightly. "Miroku, are you feeling alright?"

That this should be her reaction nearly caused him to break down then and there, but the incessant giggling of his daughters allowed him to stifle himself, knowing that this was not something they needed to hear. "Ah– actually, Sango, I'm not. Could we… could we talk, after dinner?"

Sango eyed him uncertainly, but nodded. "I suppose… Alright, girls, go wash up for dinner."

"Aww…"

The girls ran off ahead of them, leaving the husband and wife, their infant son asleep on her back, to walk alone together back through the meadow. The golden sunlight glimmered and seemed to turn everything into jewel-bright colors, emerald blades of grass and amethyst and rose-quartz flowers glinting in their path. They fell into a heavy silence, and with a sigh Miroku reached over, offering his hand. Sango blinked, surprised, and then accepted it, saying not a word as they continued to walk. The monk was fine with that; he was savoring the feeling of her warm, slender palm in his, wondering how he could have taken this for granted, fearing that he was about to lose it forever.

* * *

 **犬夜叉**

* * *

Dinner was a noisy affair, as normal, with the girls doing both of the talking and the parents doing nearly none at all. After the three little ones had finally been put to bed and the house was quiet with the sounds of their even breathing, Miroku caught Sango's eye. She tilted her head, and he swallowed and nodded, rising to his feet.

She followed him outside, where the sun had now set and the sky was fading from rosy pink into a deep purple. Together they walked in silence for a time, until they were well and truly alone, and then Miroku drew to a halt. He couldn't put this off any longer.

Apparently Sango felt the same. "What's happened, Miroku?" his wife said quietly, eyes fixed straight ahead, and he bowed his head, composing his thoughts.

Summoning his courage, he drew a deep breath and walked several paces forward, looking to the dying light. "Sango," he began heavily, "when… when I married you, I promised I would be faithful to you."

He expected to hear her catch her breath, to ask him questions, anything. When she remained silent, it finally settled in just how deeply he'd hurt her. She wasn't surprised. She'd expected him to stray, even to stray physically. The monk felt sick to his stomach. Was that the impression he'd given her?

Yes, he knew, it was. Why should she be surprised? His whole life had been one long misadventure, running down all the wrong paths. Why should she expect any different from him now?

"I swear to you, Sango," he continued, "I have never betrayed you, not physically. But I…" The words caught in his throat with a rush of dread. "I-I…"

"Miroku, please…" There was fear in her voice, guardedness too. This was a wound she didn't want reopened or even acknowledged, but he had to acknowledge it. There was no other way to save them.

"Sango, I-I want to love you… only you." His voice shook, and he tilted his face skywards, trying not to let the tears fall. "But… but I'm weak. I'm so, so weak; even when I try to fight I fail, but the worst part, Sango, the worst part is that sometimes I _don't_ try, I j-just– _just–"_

The dam broke; the tears fell from his eyes as he covered his mouth, trying to stifle the shaken sobs. He heard Sango's sharp breath of shock behind him. "Please," he choked, not daring to turn around, "Please, Sango, I need you so desperately, and I'm trying, but I can't do this on my own, I just can't–"

"Miroku–"

"And I know this isn't fair to you, and I'm sorry, Sango, I'm so _sorry…"_

"Miroku!" He felt her hands grip his shoulders, frightened at this sudden torrent of emotion, and he turned immediately to embrace her, sobbing freely. He felt hot tears on his neck and realized that Sango was crying, too, but somehow through the tears she managed to choke out words of comfort: "It's okay, it's alright. I'm still here, I still love you…"

"Help me, please," he begged weakly. "Please, help me love you, please, forgive me, please…"

"I will, Miroku. I will."

His breath caught, shuddering, and then he nodded, holding her even tighter. They swayed on the spot, both crying, and in that moment, they knew they would be okay. They weren't alone anymore, no longer distant from one another, but bound together again in honesty. And so long as they were together, there was nothing they couldn't face… not even their own weak selves.

* * *

 **A/N: If you can believe it, I wrote this all in one day; everything just flowed together. I think Miroku's bad habits would have been much harder to break than the show let on, and I wanted to explore how as a couple they would have overcome that. Please review!**


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